


Horsemen

by KiannaLeigh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Alternate History, Community: smut_fest, End of the World, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Horsemen of Apocalypse, M/M, Memory Loss, Mistaken Identity, One True Pairing, Outer Space, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiannaLeigh/pseuds/KiannaLeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world comes to an end under the swords the four Horsemen. But standing in their way is a young bespectacled professor who doesn't want to lie down and die. Standing before him is the leader of the Horsemen who wants the professor for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

The room was completely dark. He felt himself in the darkness, but couldn't see anything. He tried, desperately, not to panic, but the fear was rising up from the pit of his stomach. It made his body break out into a cold sweat.

The sweat rolling over his skin made him aware of his nakedness. It was cool in the room and the sweat on his skin gave a him chill. The chill wasn't helped any by whatever foreign thing he was laying on. It wasn't a table. It curved along the contour of his body so that he was completely flush with the surface yet settled comfortably with his head slightly inclined and his knees slightly bent. However it wasn't a bed or chair either. It was made of cold metal, or something metal-like. He wasn't strapped down but he couldn't move anything but his eyes. However he couldn't be certain he was moving his eyes. Though he felt them moving, everywhere he looked he saw only black.

Then a terrible white line cut the space to his left and he clamped his eyes shut in response. After nothing but black for he didn't know how long, the hot while light burned his eyes. A wave of warm air rolled over him. It smelt neutral, like no air he'd ever breathed in.

Slowly, he opened his eyes a crack. The room around him was filling with the light, little by little. But it was such an even, unnatural light that nothing had any meaning. There were no walls, no floor, just an endless expanse of the dull grey-white. Slowly his eyes fluttered fully open. Without thinking turned his head to the side. The same grey-white scene appeared to his right. It was awful. But at least with light, he could see himself. And at least now - for some reason - he could move his head for look down. As he suspected, he was naked and not strapped down. He scrunched his face up, trying to move anything else but his head, but he couldn't.

"Don't waste your energy," a smooth voice told him.

He turned his head. More of the same grey-white field stretched out to his left where the owner of the voice stood. But directly behind him, the grey-white field was cut by a rectangular slot. Inside the slot something like a narrow hallway ran perpendicular to the room. He latched onto that, trying desperate to see past the stranger and grabbed onto the sight with everything in had. Finally some direction. He knew where down was at last.

But too soon the slot shut, the two sides sliding together along the tilted horizon to close behind the stranger's back. The slot disappeared without a sound and the man on the table was thrust back into the directionless void. Swallowing, he shut his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths.

He was okay. He could get out of this. He would be fine.

Silently, he repeated variations of the same phrase, trying to keep himself calm, trying to get his mind to work.

The trick worked and he felt himself relax. His blood pressure and heart rate went down. He felt almost good. Not happy, but confident he could get out of this. But then something touched him.

His eyes flew open. Standing over him was the stranger from the door. He was dressed all in black with shiny, metal-like material covering the vast majority of him, including his face and head. The stranger's hand rested on his stomach, the flesh of the appendage covered in a dark, leathery glove. The man on the table stared down at the glove. When that glove, or any like it, had touched human flesh, the human had come apart like a sandcastle in the face of a wave. He wanted to shrink away from that glove, but he couldn't move and there was nowhere for him to go.

"Don't be afraid," the stranger said. His voice sounded very clear even through the featureless and unbroken black metal mask.

The man on the table stared up at the stranger who titled his head down a bit. Then the mask broke. It wasn't down the middle like the slot on the invisible wall leading to the hallway. No, the mask cracked in random places then shattered; jagged pieces of black rock fell below to the floor. The pieces definitely weren't metal; the sound they made when they hit the floor was as dull as gravel. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the man on the table put two and two together.

_So! That's where it came from!_

Behind the once metal and whole, and now rock and crumbled mask, a very human-like face was hidden. Two eyes, brown with long eyelashes; two eyebrows, very thick but well groomed; a nose, flat and somewhat broad; two lips that opened along a horizontal line and were quite full; high cheek bones; a defined jaw; all of it covered in almost creamy brown skin.

 _The leader of the Horsemen is a black guy?_ the man on the table thought idly. _Well I'll be damned._

The Horseman raised his hand from its place on his stomach and lifted his other hand to meet it. WIth a tug, he pulled off his thick black gauntlets. Like the mask they seemed to changed material as they were manipulated. As he pulled on them they went from rigid like leather to limp like a thin pair of cotton gloves. The man pulled off first the left glove, then the right and then tucked the pair into his belt at his left hip.

Having nothing better to do and intensely interested in seeing one of the Horsemen up close anyway, the man on the table studied the newly exposed hands. They were large and very masculine, nothing like the trapped man's hands which was long and slender. However though they were thick, the hands were very well taken care of. The skin was smooth and moisturized; the nails were trimmed, filed and buffed. They were attractive hands. Like the face, they seemed to be a more perfect version of a human's features.

He watched in fascination as one of the hands rose to the top of the man's head and pushed at the top of his helmet. Without the smooth mask connected to it, the top of the helmet looked very much like a hood and when the Horseman touched it, it crumpled like fabric and fell around his neck. His ears, now revealed, were perfectly shaped and stuck out just a little from his head. His hair was short, trimmed to his head but well taken care of. He if he could focus on just his face, the man on the table could pretend the Horseman was an actor or something. He was that well formed.

"You're interested in me," the dark-skinned man said suddenly. He turned to face the man on the table. "How flattering. I thought the feeling wasn't mutual."

The light skinned man swallowed and stared back. "Well why wouldn't I be interested in you?" he muttered. His voice was much less strong than he would have liked this time around. "You and your men are destroying my species."

The man laughed. He was handsome when he laughed. He seemed happy. "Your species," he said lightly. "Yes. Well. That can't be helped." He reached out again and touched the man's stomach.

At first he was just a light tap, then he increased the pressure and pressed down on the flesh. The man on the table bore it in silence. He would be damned if he cried out in pain, no matter what happened. His silence would be his protest.

"Your body is interesting." The Horseman slid his hand over the man's stomach. "You're so small." He leaned forward, close enough for the man on the table to feel his breath on his face. "But I like it. It's ... cute."

"I'm not cute!" the man snapped. Even as he said it, even before the handsome murderer of the human race stood up straight and laugh his perfect rich laugh, he knew how stupid it sounded. He was short, frail, and pale with grey-blue slanted eyes and features that were positively feminine. He was called Professor Housewife by his students. He even had a mouth like a woman, according to one of his more disruptive students. He had full lips that were shaped into a permanent pout unless he was grinning. His curly black hair was constantly falling into his face. If any man on earth had earned the title of cute, it was him.

The Horseman shook his head. "My god, you're stubborn." He touched the side of the immobilized man's face. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Either because you didn't think I would come to lunch, or because of my campaigns to form an intelligent resistance to your mass genocide?"

Once again the only response that he was given was that wonderful sounding laughter. "Your campaigns. Yes. We've noticed those. That's how I found you again so easily. You were better off one your own, sneaking past fences with your backpack." He cupped the man's face in his hand and smiled at him. He almost looked loving. "But that's not what this is about. You're here because I love you."

For a few seconds, the man on the table could say nothing. He simply stared at the other man, his mouth open in a look of shock. Finally, he said one thing. "What?"

More laughter. The sound was beautiful, that was true, but it made the bound man want to rip the other's eyes out. "I said, I love you."

He removed his hand from his face and ran two fingers over his armour where the seams would be. The metal shell lost it's shine until it was dull as dirt and then crumbled to the floor. Under the outer layer, was a tunic with a high collar. But it wasn't the clothing that captured the bound man's attention. It was the thick black criss crossing lines forming a tattoo around the man's neck. As the Horsemen continued to talk, the man stared at the band of lines.

"I love you," the Horseman repeated. "And so when I found you, I took you. That's the way this works. You belong to me."

"I don't," the man protested but his voice was distant and his mind was distracted.

"You do. You belong you me. And I'm going to prove it. This world of yours is going to burn under you and I going to make you see that you're mine."

The man moved with silent steps and quietly hoisted himself up on the table. The bound man tried to decided if he was alarmed or relieved that he couldn't feel the man sliding between his legs. As the watched - rather than felt - the other man slide his hands up his thighs, his heart began to pound. He wanted to cry out, to scream or kick, but nothing happened. He just watched as the man kissed his pelvis and began kissing his way up his body.

"I'm going to claim you," the Horseman said. "It'll hurt, but you'll get over it."

The professor felt himself shaking, or he wanted so badly to shake that he thought he felt it. He wanted badly to scream. The air caught in his throat as some feeling returned to his body. Unfortunately, it was the feeling of something that was undoubtedly a finger pressing him for entrance. Terrified he began to hyperventilate. After a few breaths, the Horseman rose to meet his eyes and pressed their mouths together. A few seconds after that, everything went black.


	2. Earth, Site of Horsemen attack; six days before abduction

The house was intact but ruined. The glass of the windows was blown out. The inside was a wreck. However the most disturbing feature by far was the piles of ashes that at one time were human bodies.

The man stepped carefully over the piles, trying not to disturb the remains as he cataloged the room. Beyond the remains were a few scattered piles of rubble which were the focus of the man's attention. He stooped at them and gingerly reached out and pluck a tiny jagged rock out of the hill.

The rock was black and rather dusty. It left smudges like charcoal marks on his latex gloves. He brought the piece up to his face, squinted his cool grey-blue eyes at it over his half moon glasses. The rock was a paradox to him. It was at once familiar since he had spent several days staring at rocks of the same nature, and totally foreign since he had no idea what it was or where it came from. Lowering the rock a bit he pressed his fingers together. After just a bit of pressure the rock broke into smaller fragments and a fine powder like graphite. It left a dark dusty stain on his fingertips of his gloves. The man frowned and pulled a little baggie out of his pocket. He dropped a few pieces of the rocks into the bag and stood.

"So what's that then?"

The man looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose a bit. In the doorway was a tall man in military fatigues. He had a gun slung over his shoulder. His deep brown eyes swished over the room. Once he had gone over it, he focused back on the man and seemed to relax, but only just a little.

"I don't know," the man with the bag said. "But whenever they take a building, this stuff on the floor."

The man with the gun eyed the larger piles of ashes and grimaced. "So is that," he muttered darkly.

The man with the bag tucked it carefully into the pocket of a bag and only spared the ashes a glance. "Yea. That too. But that's human. This isn't."

"No? Then what is it?"

"Like a said I don't know yet." The man slung his bag over his shoulder and started to move farther into the house.

"Jacob Simmons," the man with the gun announced as he moved to follow. "United States Military."

"Hamish Jones," the other replied. "Humble university professor."

"You're a teacher?" Jacob asked as he adjusted his hold on his gun. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I volunteered. I'm researching the Horsemen. If we can find out more about them, we can find out how to beat them."

The military man stared at the teacher's back and shook his head. He didn't say anything.

Carefully the two men made their way through the house. Several piles of burnt material that used to be human bodies littered the floors. Sometimes scraps of clothing which had escaped the onslaught added an eerie element to the scene.

"Why are you following me?" the professor said as he scraped some unidentifiable gunk of the floor and smeared it in a dish.

"I'm on protection detail," Jacob answered. "The big brains think that we need more intel as well. And we won't get that if all the scientist get killed."

"So you're here to protect me?" The professor stood and and turned towards his guard. He smiled, flashing a charming expression at Jacob.

The army man paused. For a moment he imagined meeting the handsome young professor elsewhere, at a bar, or at a party, instead of in a house full of incinerated human remains and staring - along with his the rest of his race - down the barrel at mass extinction. He let himself imagine, for a brief moment sharing a few hours alone with the man, caressing his smooth pale skin or kissing his neck. But after only a few seconds, he frowned and forced himself back into reality. They didn't have time for such muses. Everyday, all around the world the human race was being burnt to ashes by four super powered monsters right out of a myth: The Horsemen. Jacob didn't have time to indulge his secret longings.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "I'm here to protect you."

The professor looked at him and laughed. "Sure. Right. And just what, may I ask, are you going to do, Jacob Simmons, if a Horseman shows up? He'll point his glove at you and you'll dissolve like rice paper in a flame right inside your clothes. You won't even get the chance to fire that scary gun of yours."

Jacob frowned. He'd punch guys for saying less that the smart-mouthed, four-eyed, chink teacher had. He sometimes had a bit of a reputation of being white trash because of his habit of hitting guys first and talking about it later - normally with the authorities while in a lock-up. His homosexual urges notwithstanding, he supposed he had done more than enough to earn his "tough guy" reputation.

"So you think we should just lie down and die then?" he spat.

The handsome professor just shook his head and lowered his damn eyelashes behind his glasses. "No," he said and pressed his mouth into an "O" as he said it, emphasizing his full lips. "But let's be realistic. You are not going to protect me, big guy." He turned to continue without beckoning for the man. But at the very last moment he paused and said: "Try not to slow me down or get in my way. I have a Horseman to stop."

Jacob grit his teeth and tried not to think of punching the man in the face. He couldn't hurt him. He'd never be able to explain it away. Besides if he was in punching distance of the man he might hold him down and start kissing him. Either way, better to keep his distance.

For an hour, they went room by room through the house. Jacob mostly watched the professor and stood around bored. The professor himself seemed not to notice him much at all. He squatted at different piles of ashes and rubble that all looked the same to the military man and put little samples in baggies. Jacob tried not think about how attractive the little chink was when he was so focused.

However he was so busy trying not to notice the man attractiveness that he really didn't notice the figure approaching from behind him. When he heard the crunch of someone's boots in the hall over his right shoulder, he was staring into the professor's face. A look of horror crossed the man's features but by the time Jacob turned around, there was nothing he could do. He had only enough time to see the gleaming black metal of the Horseman's helm before getting shoved across the room by nothing.

He hit the wall like he had fallen three stories. His head was suddenly a breakfast egg: scrambled. But even so, he could see the Horseman - six foot terrifying - advancing on the chink professor. Jacob might have wanted to punch the guy, but he wasn't going to let that damn Horseman take him without a fight.

Moving with automatic skill, the army man took his gun from his shoulder, took aim and fired. The noise of the gun and the smoke created as his high caliber bullets hit the Horseman filled the room to the top. When Jacob finally released his trigger, because he ran out of bullets, he had expected to have at least dented the monster's armor. Instead, he found a completely unharmed Horseman staring at him.

At least he thought the monster was staring at him. The face was pointed at him, but the featureless mask showed nothing. That only made it more terrifying as the thing raised it's left hand a little. Jacob knew what was happening. Strangely enough there was no pain, only a tingling sensation then nothing. When it was over and strange feeling sprouted in his right shoulder. He looked and found the feeling to be his blood pouring out of his body where his right arm previously hung.

Bile and a scream rose in the military man's throat but he managed to hold them both down and tear his eyes away from his mutilated body. The Horseman was done advancing on the professor. He had one arm around the man's waist and was holding him up. The professor kicked and thrashed. A knife stood tip down in the floor not far from the pair. The army man had enough wits about him to force a half formed smile. _The little chink fought,_ he thought. _Good for him_.

And he was still fighting. Weaponless and being held in the air against the monster like a child, he was kicking and thrashing, trying desperately to get away. He actually nearly managed. The Horseman's grip must not have been good because the teacher's wriggling made him drop to the ground. Once on his own feet he dug in firmly and began to pull himself away.

"Not this time," the Horseman said. The mask never changed but the voice came loud and clear. However Jacob didn't have time to wonder about it. He had just succeeded in getting his handgun out of it's holder with his non-dominant left hand and had taken aim when the teacher began to scream wildly and jerk around as if he was being electrocuted. After five or six seconds, his eyes rolled back and he slumped over. The Horseman lifted him up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. However he was over the Horseman's right shoulder and Jacob was on the monster's left side. He gritted his teeth and hoped the little chick was still alive before opening fire.

The featureless mask turned towards him again. Jacob expected to die at any moment. He was surprised when he was allowed to empty his clip at the monster without interruption. However now he was injured and out of bullets unless he could reload. He stared at the black armored humanoid and it seemed to stare back at him. Then it simply turned and walk out the door with the corpse-like professor slung over his shoulder.

Jacob took a moment to breath before groping for his second clip. He fumbled to reload with only his non-dominant hand to use. The second clip was almost in place when the tingling sensation came back. It started at his feet. He looked in time to see his ankles evaporate. The sensation and the nothingness that followed worked his way up his body. He grunted and shifted, as if something was eating him and he could escape by moving out of the way, but the process followed his attempts at movement. His gun dissolved with his left hand. A body smear appeared on the floor where his newly severed body coughed up blood before being erased like the flesh before it. The process reached his chest and in his final second, Jacob screamed. He heard the scream end without him stopping it, then nothing. Jacob Simmons was nothing more than a red smear in a ruined house.


	3. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

When he woke finally the room was darker than it had been before. There were orbs of light, like flames, floating around the room. He was surrounded by walls, close enough to see but far enough away not to hover around him. The ceiling was smooth and the walls seemed to be made of brick. There was no door but anything was better than the weightless grey of before.

"You seem relaxed." The Horseman. His voice pulled Hamish from his musings. But his presence didn't do anything to ease his distress. He was sitting on the table, which remain unchanged despite the different surroundings, and had the smaller man's lower half parted and draped over his hips. "I thought that this room would be more to your liking. I thought it might ease your tension. It seems I was right."

He leaned forward to brush some of the man's hair out of his face which made Hamish aware of the fact the man was inside him. He wanted to scream in horror but held it down. He wouldn't scream. He had promised himself he wouldn't give the man that satisfaction.

But as the man moved forward and walked his fingers over his forehead, Hamish found it wasn't pain he had to worry about. The man rocked forward and leaned back. The slow movement sent ripples of pleasure up his spine. He pressed his back teeth together in an effort to keep from moaning. If he wouldn't scream, he certainly wasn't going to call out in pleasure. He'd rather die. He wish the man would just kill him.

"You're scared," the Horseman muttered. "Don't be. I won't hurt you." He made his movement deeper but no faster. "It'll seem like I'm hurting you at times. But trust me, everything I do, you will soon come to love." He punched forward. "You will understand." Again he thrust forward. "You will come to know who you belong to." He forced himself deeper once more but stopped in that position and leaned forward to speak in the man's ear. "You will be mine. I'll make you understand."

Hamish tilted his head back tried to not to make a sound. He needed to keep something; his dignity was all he had left.

"So proud," the man whispered. "You're always so proud aren't you? I'll strip you of that pride once and for all."

The man kissed him for a moment. Hamish wanted to bite his tongue but he couldn't move to do so. When the man backed up, he began snapping his hips again at a rapid pace until he was leaning over him driving himself inside him almost hard enough to break him. Hamish closed his eyes. He could feel a scream building in his throat. But it wasn't a scream of pain. Pleasure was radiating from every inch of his body. It pressed down on his body and cut off his oxygen.

The feeling of the Horseman's hands on his body made him want to claw him in need. More and more of body was coming back online. He could feel his limbs now. He could feel the man sliding under his hips where he was draped over him. He could feel his manhood pressed against stomach, aching, wanting. The Horseman slid a finger over the underside. Hamish bit down on his lip to keep from begging. He was so close. He could feel the man inside him, slamming against his prostate. The larger man huffed as he leaned forward. He was close too; Hamish could feel it. He hated it, but he wanted, craved for the Horseman to come inside him. His chest constricted. He was waiting for the final moment. The Horseman didn't disappoint.

In one final thrust the Horseman paused over him. The unmistakable feeling of being filled with someone's seed overtook the man. In response Hamish's body tensed for a moment then released. A wave of bliss crashed down over him. He couldn't breath. He bit down on his lip to keep from howling in pleasure. Oh god! It was too good. There were spots in his vision.

After a few moments he relaxed and lay there. The Horseman hovered over him for a moment before pulling out and sliding off the table. As he walked around the table, he kept one hand on it's surface as if he needed help staying up.

"You hurt yourself," the Horseman said. He leaned down over Hamish's face and blew on his lip which was bloody now. Hamish found the pain in his lip decreased and disappear. He couldn't feel the blood either. "You should have called out."

Hamish focused his sight on the Horseman. He was beautiful. Hamish hated him. "I'd rather die," he whispered. "I'll kill you, if I ever get the chance."

The Horseman just stared at him. For several moments he said nothing then he stood up straight and nodded. "You have a long way to go. This isn't going to be pleasant, but it must be done. I refuse to leave you behind." He touched Hamish's forehead and rubbed the man's eyebrows with his thumb. "You may call me Jamese and you belong to me."


	4. Earth, Hamish's Office; eight months before abduction

For a college professor's office, the room was pretty nice. It was big enough to hold a six or so people and had chairs and a sofa to make for comfortable visiting. The main desk was a old wooden thing that was right out of the eighteenth century. It was always overflowing with papers and books. The man behind the desk, looked entirely too small for the environment, yet utterly at home. That day he was staring out from behind his desk watching his students.

There were three young women and two young men. One young man and woman were sitting in an oversized chair together. She had blonde curly hair and was crying softly into her boyfriend's jacket which was draped over her shoulders. The man next to her, the owner of the jacket, was blonde as well. He was frowning heavily staring into space. The other two girls were sitting together on the sofa. One, taller, African American and dressed all in black, was absently playing with her ring - a spinning black metal band on third finger of her left hand. She eyed the matching band on the same finger of the smaller woman next to her. The smaller woman, white, brunette and somewhat mousey, was mostly hiding behind her bangs and darting her eyes from place to place, muttering softly. The last student, a black haired, blue eyed skate punk if anything, sat perched on the arm of the couch next to the African American girl. He had his wavy brown hair held behind his head by a band and twisted a rope bracelet between in fingers over and over.

The professor looked from one student to next, taking the time to look each of them over carefully. He had only taught three of them, and not all at the same time, but the students made an effort to stay connected with him and through him had connected with one another. They were different: girly-girl from a well off family, a sports-obsessed physical educations major, an artsy creative writing major, a Human Services major on the autism spectrum and a skater in computer sciences program. However somehow they managed to connect. He liked that about them.

"So how are you all feeling?"

His voice shattered the silence and every one of the students looked up at him. Their faces ranged from terrified to relieved to slightly ticked off. But none of them spoke right away. They just looked back at him and watched him. For a while that was it. And then, the Black woman spoke.

"We're screwed, aren't we?" It was phrased as a question but there was a quiet resignation in the woman's eyes that lent a sort of finality in to the words.

In the chair, the blonde woman began to cry a little louder. "Don't ... say that!" she begged. "There has to be a way out of this. Right?" She turned to her boyfriend. "Right? Things like this don't just happen! Aliens just don't come out of the sky and kill everybody!"

"Except they did!" The skate-punk was twisting the bracelet so tightly around his wrist the skin was changing colors. "Four bigass ships dropped down out of the sky and .... My grandmother thinks it's the End of Days. You know. The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, raining down fire. She's says God is punishing us."

"There's no such thing as "god"." The brunette woman finally looked up from her hair and she shot at a look at her latin friend. "You're grandmother is a sweet, crazy old lady. These are ... aliens! Like Kathryn said."

The man's face twisted into two separate emotions all at once. "I know there's probably no God, Nicole. I also know this is probably aliens ... but ... I mean they're killing people with a wave of their hands! That's not natural."

"Maybe it's some fifth dimension stuff," the blonde man offered. He was petting his girlfriend's shoulder. "You know they talk about what would happen if we could figure that stuff out. That's probably all it is."

"Yea but that doesn't really help us," the Latin man cut in again. He set his skateboard on the floor and put his feet on it. "We can't just tell them, 'Hey, you want to stop killing us and maybe share your advanced technology?' It just doesn't work like that!"

"Well why can't it!" Kathryn whined. "Earth has natural resources! We can trade! Back me up Anna."

Sighing the woman in black pushed her hair back from her temples and sighed. "I'm not sure it's that simple. Earth is full of resources but not more than you would be able to find cruising around the universe in those ships. Plus getting at them might ruin the planet anyway. I mean look at what we've done to our own home in the very same pursuit."

"But!" the blonde man cut in, "they're super advance aliens, right? They can just zap what they need out of the ground."

"And leave us with what?" Anna muttered. "A ruined planet and no natural resources? They might as well just kill us off and save us the misery."

"Maybe they are of advanced intelligence after all," Nicole said with a small smile. Anna bumped her shoulder but laughed under her breath.

"Glad you two can laugh at this," the blonde man muttered, but as he said he relaxed. Kathryn had stopped crying and was wiping her face.

"Leave them alone," the latino replied with ease. "Autism Sue and Bipolar Anni deal with things in their own way. Plus it's always fun for us."

"At least there's that my man," his male friend sighed.

"Kathryn," Anna called. "Your boyfriend is flirting with Santo again."

The blonde playfully slapped her boyfriend's arm. "Jacob. Really! I'm right here."

A rippled of laughter caught itself in the group and made the rounds through the students. It ended in a smile of the face of the teacher.

"So I guess that answers most of my question," the man announced. "You're all holding up."

"As well as can be expected," Santo answered as he leaned back on the sofa arm.

"Yes well. That's all that can be asked of you," the teacher responded sagely.

"And what about you, Hamish?" Kathryn asked. "Are you okay?"

The teacher nodded. "I am. I'm feeling well. I'm confident."

"Confident?" Jacob muttered. "Why confident?"

The teacher leaned back and smiled. "I just signed up to be a Civilian Researcher with Horseman Defense Sector of the U.S. Marines."

"You did WHAT?" Anna snapped.

"Teach," Jacob sighed. "You're going to get yourself killed! Why would you do that?"

"I met one of the Horseman," he said simply and held up his hand to silence the stream of questions that he knew was coming. "I saw one up close. He spoke to me."

"And you didn't die?" Nicole burst out.

"Shush!" Anna snapped.

Hamish only laughed. "No I didn't die. They aren't gods. Just men. They may come from a civilization that we can't begin to understand right now, but their leader is a man and so are they. And that means they can be beat. We can outsmart them."

"You sound like Sherlock," Nicole pointed out. The group collectively sighed. All but Hamish. He just smiled.

"Maybe I do. I've always liked a good challenge. This is no exception. I won't roll over and die."

"Then maybe," Kathryn offered, "maybe there is way out of this."

"Maybe," Hamish agreed. "I want you five to stay safe. I want you to stay together if you can. Find someplace to hunker down."

"My family's got a big cabin up in the mountains," Kathryn said quickly. "It's got like two dozen rooms. We can stay there."

"We can pick up food along the way," Anna said. "Food and other supplies."

"I can't just leave my mother," Santo quipped.

"Then we'll get her," Jacob snapped back. "So that's us, Santo's mother, grandmother and sister. Your sister has two kids right."

"Yea," Santo said as he picked up his skateboard. "But we can leave their dad."

"It's just me, Nicole and the cats for us," Anna added. She'd taken her wife's hand.

"And it's me, Kathryn and my dad for me, if I can get him to come."

"He'll come," Anna pressed. "We'll knock him out if we have to."

"Well don't that," Hamish cut in loudly. "But do leave and quickly. Okay?"

"Hamish," Kathryn said. "I'll leave you the address, if you need it."

"Okay," the professor said as he stood. "This might be the last time we see one another for some time, so good luck."

He looked at each of his students and smiled. If he felt anything it was only the confidence that they would be sitting together one day, safe from all this.


	5. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

For a long while, nothing happened. He woke up. He never ate. He didn't have any bodily needs to speak of. Deprived of the basic functions of eating and then passing the waste from eating and cellular activity, being awake was boring. If he was awake, he was staring into space for hours, thinking without being able to move, pondering without anyone to bounce ideas off of. The scenery changed sometimes. He thought it was something like a hologram. He was in the room with the bricks and troches where the Horseman - Jamese - had raped him. Then he was in some sort of hospital room - fitting for a rape victim, he thought with amusement. Next came a luxurious bed in room with the most wonderful view of the ocean. Next there were mountains. There was space and undersea, and in the clouds. He could even feel the temperature changing slightly, and movement of the air. But the whole thing blurred into one after a while. With one no to talk to and nothing to do, the images became almost inseparable from his dreams of the students and his office. Since he never got hungry and never had to relieve himself, he had no idea how long he slept. Time was nothing.

And so despite himself, when he woke and found himself laying on his side, clothed, in a real bed, he was excited. Hamish knew without a doubt that this was a trick, but any break the monotony was welcomed.

Slowly, he pushed himself up. His body worked well. He felt good: well rested, fresh and full of energy. He smiled. He couldn't help it. And to his extreme relief he was alone. The room he was in was ordinary. It didn't have four walls, but was an open suite with a living room off to one side and a kitchen beyond that. A few walls stood to separate the spaces but the areas flowed into one another. A bathroom, visibly through an open door, stood to the right of the bed. To left was a elegant double door and beyond that a small jungle of some sort.

Hamish looked down at himself. He was dressed in slacks, socks and a dress shirt. He had a vest that matched his slacks and a tie with a gold tie pin. On the floor were two polished gentleman's shoes. His got up without the shoes and moved to the big oak dresser that stood in the front of the bed, against a wall that jutting out from the next to the door and made up the far border of the bedroom area. On the dresser was a large mirror. Hamish had to admit he was pleased with his clothes. Anything beat being naked on a slab, but the clothes were really very nice. His hair was done up too, in golden hair pins that kept most of his black curls in place. A few still managed to fall in his face somehow.

In the dresser were more clothes. Socks, shirts, trousers, ties, watches, cuff links, there was everything he might to need to dress the part of a gentleman. Everything except the one article of clothing he noticed he was lacking: boxers. The man frowned and shut the drawers before moving to the bathroom.

The bathroom was as well stocked as the dresser but it too was missing something. There was no curtain around the shower and the door hadn't been left open, there was no door to close. Hamish tried not to think of what such details implied but he couldn't help but imagine Jamese paying him sudden visits.

As he continued his tour nothing else in the suite set him off in the same way but it was unnerving in a different way. In the living room there were books he would have liked to read and back issues of magazines he liked. An entertainment system was set up with game systems, games and movies. It was a place with everything he might need to be happy here. Seeing it disguised him. The kitchen was stocked with his favorite foods.

Feeling he would do something rash if he didn't get away, Hamish retreated to the bedroom and went to double doors. Beyond them was a small porch with round table to two chairs. The man ignored the table and its place setting for two and walked out onto the grass.

It was real. He could feel the blades pricking his feet as he walked. The plants were real too. He rubbed the leaves between his fingers. And most wonderful of all, in the trees were birds. Beautiful brightly colored birds. After an undetermined time in isolation, another living creature was like a gift from the gods, a miracle.

For a while, he was content to watch the birds and listen to their song. It was nice. It felt real. And then he realized, it wasn't real.

Mentally recharged from watching the birds, Haish felt a sudden urge to walk around. He got up and went for the polished shoes next the bed before charging into the small forest. A few small animals scattered at his approach - rabbits and squirrels maybe, he didn't get a good look at them - but he didn't let them distract him. Some clouds passed overheard, but he ignored their shadows. He kept walking and walking, until he couldn't walk anymore. He wasn't stopped by exhaustion, but by a wide river. It looked more than mile across and was moving too fast for him to even think about swimming in it. It was moving too fast to even be real.

On the steep and sudden bank, there were a few rocks. Hamish picked one up and threw it. It hit was the water a ways out and disappeared. He tried another, with more force, but met with the same result. He picked up a rock and made fro a third attempt, but found himself his wrist caught.

Jamese was suddenly behind him. He didn't have his armor on, instead he wore a suit with a vest, jacket and tie.

"The wall is farther out than you have the strength to throw something," he said evenly. "If you get in the water, you'll just get sucked under and spit out on the bank. If you make habit of jumping in, you'll never get this far again." The Horseman released his wrist and nodded back towards the suite. "Come on. There's lunch waiting."

Hamish stared and considered his options. It took him less than a second to see he had none. He dropped the stone and began to walk. The Horseman fell into step next to him.

"Do you like here?" the Horseman asked as he walked.

"I'm staying here from now on," Hamish commented. "For the rest of my life, I suppose."

"No," Jamese said quickly. "You'll only be here until you're ready to leave."

"And when will that be?"

"That depends on you," was the cryptic answer.

They returned to suite where lunch was indeed waiting. It was laid out on the small dining room table that sat on the border between the living room and the kitchen. It was all set up with food and utensils and glasses.

"Fish?" Hamish asked.

"Lemon butter tuna and jasmine rice," Jamese answered as he walked over to the table.

Hamish nodded as he eyed the set up. Good china, real silverware, crystal goblets, it was as elegant as the rest of the room, the rest of the little world he was expected to dwell in until further notice. Slowly he walked around the table, letting his fingers glide over the lace tablecloth.

"Do you like it?" Jamese asked.

Hamish stopped and stared at the table. For a while he said nothing. Then he suddenly turned his eyes away from the set up and wrinkled his nose. "There's no wine?" he asked with a click of his tongue. He could see Jamese in his side vision. The man smiled and moved away.

"White or red? I know you're somewhat picky about your wines."

"Red," Hamish said as he walked. He dragged his fingers over the tablecloth again as he continued around the table towards Jamese. "Something dry for dinner."

"And something sweet for dessert?" Jamese added with a laugh.

He didn't know why, but Hamish smiled. He even chuckled a little. "Yes. Something sweet for dessert." He ended up right behind the Horseman, who was leaning over a wine rack. The broad expanse of his back was presented to the professor without guard. He smiled. Honestly he felt, happy. Raising the silver steak knife he took aim and brought the point down on where the monster's spine should be, given his humanoid anatomy.

However the point never met its mark. Somehow, Hamish couldn't be sure how, he ended up face to face with the Horseman with the man holding his right wrist in his iron grasp. Then he a feeling overcame him, intense pain radiating through his entire body. He had felt this pain when the Horseman grabbed him before. It was like he was forcing his nerves to all fire up at once. Hamish could feel his muscles twitching and jumping in response to the activity.

He screamed. He couldn't help it. When it stopped he almost fainted again, but managed to keep awake. He was even on his feet. And so when the Horse began to drag him, he dug his heels weakly into the carpet, trying to stop him and failing. He was dizzy and for a moment unable to really tell where they were going. But unfortunately, he did noticed after some time. They were heading towards the bed.

"No," Hamish muttered as he began to shook his head. "No!"

He kicked and screamed - forgetting his private vow not to - twisting and shaking himself to get out of the man's grasp. However it was like a child fighting a grown man. The Horseman grabbed him over and over, dragging him along as if he weighed nothing. He tossed him on the bed like a bag.

As soon as he hit the bed, Hamish rolled, trying to hit the floor. If he could, maybe he could make a break for the doors. Perhaps the Horseman wouldn't bother with him if he had to chase him. But he never made it to the floor. He was grabbed and forced onto his stomach. He kicked and screamed as the Horseman pushed down on him and reached around him to unbutton his pants.

Suddenly, at this point, Hamish stopped fighting. He pressed his face into the mattress. He was not going scream anymore. He wouldn't thrash or cry. If he couldn't escape even when his body was free, he would again let his silence be his revenge.

The Horseman's hand glided over his backside. Hamish expected to feel him parting his cheeks and forcing himself on him. Instead, the hand was removed from his skin on only to come back down onto sharply a second later. The professor almost screamed but managed to bite it back. The hand came down again, even harder than the first time.

"I told you I would strip you of that pride," the Horseman hissed. "And I plan on doing a thorough job of that."

His hand came down again. Hamish buried his face in the mattress and tried not to think about anything at all. However that wasn't the simplest task. Every strike of the Horseman's hand caused pain to spread over his cheeks. Plus, much to his misery his body was reacting strongly to the pain. He could feel his manhood rubbing against the mattress, becoming more and more sensitive. Soon he had to concentrate on not moaning as well as not screaming. When the assault was finally over there was heat pain radiating from his backside but that hardly masked the arousal coursing through his body.

"I think that should be enough," the Horseman said. He stood; Hamish felt his weight get off the bed. He didn't dare turn over and present the monster with proof of his lust. Instead he pressed his face into the bed and waited. "Try to be more mature the next time I visit you."

There was silence and Hamish allowed himself to entertain the thought that the man was leaving. Then to his surprise, a door opened and slammed shut somewhere across the suite. Slowly, the professor raised his head. He found an empty apartment. For a few moments he simply lie on his stomach, then he put his head again, pressed his face back to the mattress surface and began to scream.


	6. Earth, Site of Horsemen attack; nine months before abduction

The stone step crumbled under his foot but luckily it only dropped him a few inches and he was easily able to regain his footing. Frowning, Hamish froze, waiting and listening for any sign that someone had heard the small noise and was coming to investigate. The seconds ticked by. Far behind him, police tape marked off most of the area as being off limits. If that weren't enough, a portable chain-link fence - easily scaled - and a few guards - easily avoided - surrounded the perimeter. If he was caught here he'd be arrested for sure. But he needed to be there. He was researching.

Three months ago, four giant masses had come out of the sky and hovered over the four corners of the earth. From theses massive spaceships, messages, in every language and dialect ever spoken on the face of the Earth, had proclaimed Earth's dominant species, Homo sapien, to be the target of mass extinction. The messages had told them they could either come quietly to the nearest interstellar ship for examination and elimination and that doing so would save the best and brightest of their species. Otherwise they would be hunted down by the masters of the ships, four beings whose name became the quickest learned word in every language across the world.

Les Cavaliers. Das Reitern. Gisaga. Kishu. The Horsemen.

Four black armor clad, faceless monsters. With mere sweep of their hand, they could tear down walls and melt humans into red puddles of organic material. Bullets and missiles did nothing to either them or their ships. They could clear a city millions in hours, taking out miles of humans at once. Suddenly a mass scream would erupt from a section of a city, after about fifteen seconds it would go completely silent. No animals were ever hurt, household pets were left unharmed. Wildlife was slowly retaking Tokyo which had been cleared out with New York, Sydney and Lima on the first day of the Horsemen's arrival.

They were not just powerful, but smart and ruthless. They hit cities, but left airports open. They didn't hit any planes dumb or brave enough to fly, no matter where they were going. They didn't hit any travelers. But when the masses flocked to the Vatican, fearing the End of Days, they hit the city hard, two of them together and wiped out the seat of an entire religion all at once. Mecca was hit later that day. Shrines were all over world for every god whose name had ever been uttered were ripped apart, seemingly by the very gods they were dedicated to. Seeing a honest to god dragon devouring terrified humans was not something one forgot easily.

Part of the planet was praying for salvation, the other part was trying to figure out how the gods and monsters they'd either revered or dismissed were now terrorizing them. A small section skipped to the chase - or more specifically, skipped the chase - and drove their families to the ships. Movements based on giving in to this "higher force" had sprung up all over the world. An even smaller section of the population, mostly confined to those in the government or military, were part of organized resistance.

Hamish himself was none of the above. He neither thought of the Horseman as true monsters nor scourges from god. "Magic is any sufficiently advanced technology." That was the saying that Hamish had in bold gold leafed letters on the front of his office door. As a theoretical and quantum physics teacher he truly believe that science advanced to the point of seamless integration in life was the bases of all magic. And so to him, the Horsemen were a thing to be studied, explained, and maybe reasoned with.

If some of those who went quietly to meet their end were spared, The Horseman were obviously looking for something worthwhile in the human race and that thing was most likely intelligence. But Hamish wasn't going to hand himself over. This was a challenge and if he could beat it, maybe he could save someone, anyone.

And so he was scaling the the back steps of a once beautiful building. It had been church before one of the Horsemen came to town. He hadn't demolished the whole place at once. They almost never never did. They'd hit a few places first then wipe the whole town later. Hamish was convinced they were looking for something. And if he followed their trail, maybe he could find out what it was, get ahold of it first and then strike some sort of deal. They'd hit the church a few days before. Hamish had waited that long for their newest target to divert attention from the place. Sure he was working a few days behind them, but he worked fast.

Confident after a few minutes that he hadn't attracted any attention he continued up the steps, picked over the police tape and wedged himself through the broken door to gain access inside. Beyond the threshold of the back entrance moonlight pierced the gloom of the interior. Hamish remembered that place used to be beautiful once. He had attended a few services while teaching. He also frequented the local synagogue and had sat in on a mid-day prayer session with some of his muslim students. Every religion he came across, he studied. In a way, he almost admired the Horsemen. They understood the fundamental drive in the human mind to come up with answers. It made their terrorism all the more horrific, but it was damn smart.

After taking a deep breath he moved farther into the building. He'd done this before. He drained his savings hopping around the country in three-day weekends to look at previous destruction sights. He always found the same things. There was the usual carnage of the whole thing, broken doors, blown out windows, red piles of what used to be human beings. But there were also minuter and easier overlooked details to observe. In many of the places where the Horsemen visited and destroyed personally, there was a strange black substance left behind. It was a soft rock of some sort, almost like charcoal. However Hamish had so far found no Earthly elements that could possibly make up the substance. It was something left by the Horseman themselves, something part of who they were. It was one of his first clues with which he could unravel their mystery and even the playing field.

So to that ends he surveyed the church with a careful eye. He was slow and meticulous about his work, focused to the point of blocking out all other thoughts and sensations. Even the helicopter that went past very near overhead was little more than distant white noise to him. It had to pass several times before he noticed it enough to look up over his half moon glasses and even then it was only to frown at the disturbance of his work.

"Noisy," he muttered harshly before turning his attention back to the ground.

"I quite agree," another's voice called over the sound of the helicopters.

Hamish looked up, ready to explain himself. But the figure before him was no police officer. He was tall, taller than Hamish by a head, and thick with smooth black armor. The sleek helmet encompassed the figure's entire head and shiny black surface gave it a faceless stare. A Horseman.

Slowly, Hamish looked back down. He wasn't sure why. By all accounts he would be dead in a moment. But he wasn't one for sloppy work. He finished collecting his last sample, taking less than he originally planned, then put his supplies quickly away and stood.

"Such careful work," the Horseman comment. "You're very good at your job."

"I pride myself on my work," Hamish answered.

"I see. And your name is?"

"Hamish Jones," the man answered clearly, far more clearly than he imagined he ever could. For some reason he felt no fear in the presence of this man, only irritation of the interruption of his work, and the forthcoming ending of his life.

"I see."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"What's your name?"

"I'd prefer not to tell you, Hamish. I am the Captain in Command of the One Hundred and Forty Second Horseman Squad."

"So you're the leader." Hamish gave a wry smile. "Well how do you do then, sir? Lovely evening to revisit a mass grave of one's own creating, isn't it?"

The Horseman made no move to react to that statement. His body was perfectly still and if he had a face to react with under that smooth exterior, he made no move to indicate it. He simply stood there. The two men, Human and Horseman, stood across from each other in the ruined church. Helicopters hovered just outside, kicking wind, dust and noise in through the shattered windows. It occurred to Hamish finally, that the choppers had been tracking the Horseman while he had been trying to ignore their noise. As he toyed with the idea of escape, he noticed the Horseman shift.

"You are and odd person," the faceless brute said suddenly. "Very odd. There is something about you that I might like to understand."

"Are you asking me out for lunch, then?" Hamish inquired.

Whatever the Horseman thought of saying about that, he never got the chance. At the very moment the words left Hamish's lips a terrible bang ripped through the area. Everything happened at once. There were lights and stomping. Hamish was literally swept up by someone. He blinked and found himself several feet in the air, hovering over the church. The Horseman was surrounding by soldiers, but dispatching them with calm ease. He disappeared from Hamish's sight before the man could see him finish off his opponents.

In a daze the professor found himself pulled inside a helicopter and being stared down my marines. "Well good evening," he managed to choke out. "I supposed I'm being arrested for trespassing now."

"Arrested?" one asked. She was a short, squat woman with her black hair in a ponytail and frown lines etched into her face. "After becoming the only human to have stood face to face with a Horseman and lived? After becoming the only human to have spoken with a Horseman? Mr. Jones, you're being asked to volunteer as a Civilian Researcher with United States Marine Corps."

Hamish lowered his eyes and tried to hide his smile. "I see," he answered softly.


	7. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

On the first day, Hamish had been relieved. Jamese had not appeared to darken his doorway so to speak and that was an immense relief for the man. It had taken him the entire day to relax which bothered him. His mind was tense and his body jumpy. He looked at the door for no reason, sometimes suddenly turning around as if he could sense the man coming to see him again. But after a day, when the "sun" set and the outside darkened to black and muted cricket chirps, Hamish finally began to relax. He didn't think he was safe. But finally the strain of the his last encounter with the Horseman faded from his mind. He forgave himself for his body's lustful reaction and allowed himself take it as another sign of the strangeness of the situation that he found himself in.

Then on the second day, he found himself restless. He woke without wanting to and washed dress quickly. Wanting to understand his new surroundings more thoroughly than he did, he put on a pair of boots - found neatly a closet that wasn't there when he went to sleep and was next to a much smaller dresser, vanity-like dresser - and went walking in his "backyard". The space was large, large enough that it took hims several days to walk it all. It was a different distance to the end where the "river" marked his boundary depending on which way he went. The space was a semi-circle. The backdoor from the bedroom was in the middle, and on other side extended the "apartment" which consisted of: on one side the kitchen, livingroom and dining room and on the other a home gym, library, pool and greenhouse that either hadn't been there before, or he hadn't noticed before. If he went beyond those rooms while outside of the house, he ran into the river immediately. He named the water the End River.

With the dimensions of his prison mostly sketched out, Hamish went about discovering the inside of the apartment. The place seemed to shift and move as slept, adding things and getting rid of them as it felt he wanted or needed them. With this moving going on it took focus to keep track of things perfectly. However that was fine; it gave him something to do. It gave him days' worth of something to do really, and so it was days before he noticed the changes.

Hamish had slept little when he focused, but suddenly he found he was never tired and never hungry. That was almost for the best. The food in the kitchen, little by little, vanished. After that, the next thing he noticed was his lack of need to use the restroom. Urination and defecation were vile, time consuming activities true, but there was something unnatural about not having to. And then the sky changed. No longer did the light rise and fall like the rising and setting of the sun. The muted grey light from the first room he'd seen the Horseman in crept into the sky and stole the passage of time from again. Worst than that, the birds disappeared. The only other living things he'd actually seen besides the Horseman were suddenly gone.

Hamish sat alone on his porch, staring out into the forest. The trees were dying, dropping their leaves onto the brown grass. The air was so perfectly still, that the dried foliage dropped straight down when it fell and never moved once it hit the ground. Hamish never moved either. In empty, timeless space, he sat and watched until all the leaves dropped. Then there was nothing for him to watch. There was nothing for him to do. His books and games and movies had all disappeared. There was no equipment in the gym. The plants in his greenhouse were all dead. He sat on the porch of his lovely barren apartment without even something to think about. Nothing was moving forward. The world he now lived in was waiting.

And then it hit him. After days - if the passage of time could even be marked where he was - of nothing; days of the sky being the same horrific grey, days of dead trees, days of silent birds, Hamish finally wished consciously for Jamese to come back.

If it was brainwashing, then it was good but obvious brainwashing. His world depend on Jamese's involvement in it. Hamish understood. He understood well enough to resist at first. No one had even died of boredom. Finally though, he found that was the entire point. No one had ever died of boredom, but boredom so profound it defined one's existence, made one want to die. He couldn't even sleep to escape it.

With a sigh Hamish put on a new pair of clothes. The one's he took off were never dirty. He didn't sweat, along with the bathroom being rendered a useless space in his suite. Nonetheless, he took off one suit and put on another - plus boots- and began to walk in his dead forest garden. He headed straight out from the porch for the part of the End River farther from his door and intended to think there. He couldn't stay like this, locked in stasis like this, forever. But on the other hand, the alternative meant spending time with Jamese.

All the way to the river Hamish thought and thought while staying mostly at the path ahead of him. When he finally reached the water, he looked up from his shoes and out over the river. Originally, on the other side of the wide, fake river was more lush forest. Not anymore though. There was only a barren field going as far as he could see.

Staring out at that burnt out field Hamish allowed himself to feel a little melancholy. He realized and accepted with quiet resignation that this was his life now. The fake sky, the borrowed trees, the clothes that weren't his, the beautiful apartment that he couldn't leave, these things were his life. Pointless self-destruction had never been his style.To be or not to be was always the question and his answer was always the same. It wasn't giving up; it was biding his time. Obviously he hadn't collected enough facts. Emotion lead him to act without proper observation and thought. The very idea appalled him a little.

Taking a deep breath, Hamish relaxed himself and prepared to do back to the apartment. It was time for a new course of action.


	8. Earth, New York City; 1918

The sky was bright, impossibly bright with millions and millions of stars. Up on the roof, high above the ground, it was a simple matter to see them all, even in the city. At least it was to him. The man stood with his feet apart, his spine straight, his head tilted up. He was just watching the stars and thinking. It was Saturday, the Sixteenth of November and he was alive. For a long time he was content to watch the stars and do nothing else. It wasn't really that cold out. Besides, anything was better than being inside. Inside dozens of his good friends and dear acquaintances and charming strangers were discussing affairs of the world and sipping Champagne that had had been sealed away for a "rainy day" that was finally upon them. They were drinking to good health, celebrating and drowning their fears and anger and worries in alcohol. But as for him, he was content to stand under the stars and think.

"Newton?"

The man turned, casting his grey-blue eyes towards towards the door leading back inside. Emerging from the doorway was a slight and pretty young young woman. She was wearing a party dress: a rather loose, somewhat pink, multi-layered thing that flattened out her natural womanly curves into a column shape. It was, in Newton's opinion, as shapeless and tasteless as a sack, but it was all the rage that fall and who was he to judge the unstoppable force of woman's fashion. Her hair was done up in the back and left some of her forelocks to fall over her face, a face which was twisted with worry.

"There you are! What are you doing up here? You'll catch your death of cold in this night air."

Newton smiled easily, his hands sticking out of the pockets of his trousers. With his suit jacket open he looked much less elegant than he had earlier when he arrived. He liked it that way.

"You worry too much, Lizzy. I'll be fine."

"I'll be fine, he says," the young woman sighed. "Well nevermind it. I worry, so come inside. Besides, you're my escort and I'm not having any fun without you. I can't even dance without you!"

Newton laughed, tilting his head back up to stars. "Darling! Why you're the most beautiful girl in all the city! I'm surprised you even made it past all your suitors to find me up here."

The girl smiled and batted her eyes. "Well," she said in a high voice. "It wasn't easy. I really had to fight."

The man blew a whistle. "I see! Well don't I feel special, then?"

"You should!" She skipped up to him and took his left arm in both of hers. "So what are you doing up here anyway? The party's all downstairs."

"I'm looking at the stars." He tilted his head up and searched the sky. "I was thinking to myself, if I were in the stars, looking down on Earth, I would be so disappointed." He looked down at the girl on his arm. "I mean, can you believe it. A Great War. A World War. More people have died in these last years than in all of human history, I think."

"All of history?!" the woman muttered. "I highly doubt that, Newton."

"Yes," the man admitted. "Yes I suppose you are right. But still. A Great War."

"The Great War is over! We won. Nothing like that can happen twice."

Newton stared into the face the woman. He wanted to tell her how little she understood. How futile is seemed to be. Again and again, humans making the same mistakes. It was all so ... frustrating!

But she was a sweet and innocent thing. They had been friends since childhood and it was widely held they had would marry. Even they believed it. With the Great War over, there did seem to be a sense of hope, in some at least. In Elizabeth at least. Newton couldn't take that innocence and hope for a better tomorrow away from the young woman.

"Why Elizabeth, I think you're right. Man's most singularly impressive ability is the ability to learn from his own mistakes. That's how he's come this far."

"You see?" the woman muttered coyly. "Now come back inside. It's the first time we've had anything to celebrate in ages, so let's not waste it. The way I see it, this is the first of many celebrations. November 1918. They'll mark the date. Wars will decrease from here on out. Pacifism is growing all over. You'll see Newton. Your "men in the stars" will look down and be so pleased with us all."

Newton laughed and began to walk back into the building. "Yes. I supposed, in time they will be." He smiled and for the moment, left the silent judging stars to themselves.


	9. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

_I slept._

Hamish woke with the single, quiet thought in his mind. After a nameless and bland amount of time not sleeping that fact seemed almost surreal. As surreal, in fact as the strange and vivid dream he'd had about staring up at the cloudless night sky. And it was the dream itself that tipped him off to having slept at all.

He knew what was real. His waking life, was real. Hamish knew that him, in pajamas, in an elegant bed, in a lovely apartment that he couldn't leave was real. That was reality. And so, him on a rooftop in New York was not real. And when he added the fact that he opened his eyes and the rooftop in New York was gone and his bed and apartment were there with him in it, then it was simple logic to figure out that after a timeless period of not requiring sleep, he'd finally slept and dreamt. It was almost a relief after all this time. The unnaturalness of not needing sleep was disquieting.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Hamish took a deep breath. He smelt breakfast. There were eggs maybe, and sausages, with pancakes. The aroma was delightful. The double doors were standing open, letting in what Hamish supposed he had to let pass for sunshine in his artificial world. However even more wonderful than the warm golden light, the door let in birdsong. The man sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. Warm air came in from the doors. For a moment he let himself enjoy his surroundings. Excessive stress was bad for the mind after all and he had work to do.

When he finally felt relaxed and his mind felt clear and ready, Hamish opened his eyes and stood. He considered for a brief moment going and washing up before getting dressed. In the end he shrugged off that thought. It wasn't necessary. He couldn't make his statement that way. So instead he walked over into the living room space in his bare feet and pajamas.

"I was just about to get you." Jamese was setting the table with glasses and silverware. He was wearing a button down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up. His collar was open. The sunny yellow of shirt matched the sunny atmosphere in the apartment. To contrast the brightness of his shirt, the Horseman wore a pair of navy pants. Hamish had to admit it worked well with the man's skin tone.

"Good morning," Hamish said evenly but without a smile. He approached and touched the back to of a chair, just looking at the place settings. A flash of silver caught his eye. Hamish turned slightly to see the Horseman place a curved shape steak knife down at the left of Hamish's plate. Hamish eyed the knife as the other man walked around the table and placed a second knife at his own place.

Slowly Hamish shifted to bring himself closer the table, with the knife at his right hand. He watched the Horseman leave the table and move towards the stove. Hamish looked between the man and the table a few times. When he realized the man wasn't coming back to the table he grit his back teeth and picked up the knife.

"What are you doing?" the Horseman asked as he turned around with a plate of food. Hamish was switching around the silverware. He did his own then moved around the table and switched the other set of silverware.

"Your table is wrong," he said matter-of-factly. "Knives go on the right, the side of the dominate hand of most people."

"I can use my right and left hand equally well."

"Well that's you," Hamish answered dismissive. "But it's not proper table setting. If you're going to do it, do it right."

The man chuckled as he set down a plate of bacon. "Very well, Hamish. I shall."

They sat down and ate together. The food was delicious. Everything was perfect. Hamish ate in silence, focusing on the food and the tastes. He spoke only once and that was to ask if they would have wine.

"Not with breakfast," the other answered with a laugh. "I could put some vodka in your orange juice."

Hamish declined as he wasn't interesting in drinking alcohol anyway and went back to eating. When he was was finally done, he rose with a hum.

"Well that was lovely. Thank you."

"You're welcome," the Horseman answered.

"I'm going to watch a movie. Would like to sit with me?"

"Can we watch Romeo and Juliet?"

"The movie?" Hamish asked with narrowed eyes.

"No. A recording of the play. One the original performances."

Hamish stared and thought over the statement. Well the original announcement from the ships of the Horseman had explained that human-life had been ruled - one way or another - as being worthy of destruction. Naturally they must have been watching. Honestly, looking at it from that view, Earth's destruction almost seemed the natural, logical end point. He stored that information way and turned his back on the Horseman.

"I'm going to watch The Producers. You can stay or not. It doesn't matter."

Ignoring the other man, the professor sat on his sofa and picked up the remote. The whole entertainment system was controlled from a remote. He tapped on the movie icon, searched for the movie by name and tapped play. The movie began to without all the annoying adverts. As the first song began to play, the sofa shifted when he Horseman dropped down onto it. He wasn't close enough to touch the professor, but the man was conscious of his presence none-the-less.

The movie rolled on. The Horseman moved closer as time passed. That was fine with Hamish. He knew it was going to happen. He allowed it without reaction. When the other put his hand on his knee, Hamish only shifted. However when the Horseman suddenly picked up the remote and turned off the movie, he finally had to react.

"What is it?" he asked.

The Horseman only responded by kissing him. It was a sudden but warm kiss. It matched the day: warm and light and rather pleasant. Hamish wasn't fooled, but it made pretending easier.

The man trailed kisses down his throat as he unbuttoned the top of his pajamas. Hamish allowed it. He even kissed back a little. That seemed to rile the other up though. The Horseman stood and pulled apart the buttons on his own shirt before discarding it. He then removed his pants and toss them aside causally. He wore no undergarments.

Hamish couldn't help himself. He smiled wryly. _So, it's something of a custom then. And here I thought he was being a pervert._

The man gestured for Hamish to stand which he did slowly. With growing forcefulness the Horseman pulled him out of his pajamas before shoving him back down on the sofa.He man knelt and kissed him, forcing their mouths together with so much pressure Hamish thought for a panicked moment that he would suffocate. When he did let go it was only to plant hot, rough kisses over his shoulders and throat. All the while he fondled him, grabbed and stroking his manhood. Hamish hated it, and he supposed he would always hate it, but it was intensely arousing.

He tilted his head back and parted his lips, trying to neither moan nor beg. His hands he forced underneath him, to keep himself from holding the Horseman. The hot kisses left warm spots across his chest and try as he might he could help himself from writhing ever so slightly. The Horseman rose and kissed his mouth while giving his aching manhood a squeeze.

A moan escaped his mouth and he nearly bucked into the man's hand but stopped himself somehow. However that small victory was soon darkened by a new wave of lust. The Horseman released his mouth and kissed his way down his body. He kissed the tip of his manhood once before taking the member into his mouth. Biting the inside of of cheek in an attempt to level out his sensation, Hamish wished the other wouldn't take such time to pleasure him. It was easier to loathe him if he wasn't throbbing over him. But he was throbbing over him.

The Horseman's mouth slid over his skin, coating him in hot saliva. Hamish tried not to part his legs farther as the other licked at his balls but found himself sliding to a more open position anyway as he was taken into that talented mouth again. The Horseman bit a little on the sensitive glans but it wasn't enough for damage and he released the pair in favor of the head of Hamish's manhood in a moment. He huffed, trying and failing to breath normally under the circumstances. The Hoseman increased the pace of his actions. As he forced himself down on the professor, the bespectacled man slipped and groaned. That once slip was more than he could recover from. The large man moved faster and faster; Hamish began to cry out in short low bursts, rolling his hips to add to the friction. The Horseman's hand's slid over his thighs, rubbing the skin gently, but Hamish ignored that, in favor of pushing up his hips. He was so close.


	10. Earth, France; 1780

Grey-blue eyes stared up at the night sky with a worried expression. The man shifted. He was a laying in a hay pile. The material was a little itchy but softer and more comfortable than his bed in the house. Besides, inside he shared a bed with his younger sister and brother. Out in the field he was free to be alone and rest and think. And there were plenty for him to think about. The world was going crazy. Sure, there on his family's tiny farm in the country he had enough to worry about with just trying to help feed the family and pay the taxes. But everyday things were happening that would shape humankind's destiny. Looking up at the stars, he wondered where they were all heading now.

"Francis?"

The young man frowned and sat up in the hey. He brushed some hay out of his black hair and raised his eyebrows. "Catherine," he said sternly to his little sister. "Why are you out here. Mama will be furious."

"You are out as well," the girl muttered as she lifted her skirts and went to climb the hay pile. "Are you watching the stars again?"

"Yes," the young man admitted. "There are so many things that trouble me, lately. The war, for instance."

"Are you afraid that England will attack because the king sent troops to America?"

The young man laughed, letting himself fall back into the hay. "Such a clever mind in such a young girl. You'll never find a husband thinking as much as you do."

"I work twice as hard as I think. I'm fourteen already. I should behave like a woman, not a little child."

"Yes," he said. "I think so. But to answer your question, no. England doesn't worry me. But this revolution business does. If one were to look down at the Earth, would one be angry at all this?"

"You think God disapproves of men trying to better their lives?"

"No! Heavens no!" Francis sat up and turned to look at his sister. "But I think that maybe all this fighting is a poor way for civilized men to conduct themselves."

The girl wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "Men quarrel. It's in their nature."

"Well men's nature is gross and vulgar then."

The girl laughed lightly. "Have pity on men, brother. You are one after all. Look at your fellow man with hope. Hold them only with disappointment when they fail, not contempt."

Watching the girl for a moment before turning to the sky again, Francis thought about her words. Then after a while, he nodded. "I will then. I will be more gentle, I think."

"Good. I'm proud of you, Francis."

"Thank you, Catherine."


	11. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

Hamish gasped and held his breath. His head swam; his body tensed, every muscle contracting and shuddering. He couldn't even scream. But finally all the tension was released in one sharp moment. He tilted his head back and screamed. Jamese pressed his forehead into his shoulder and shuddered as he came inside him.

They lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, sweating. Hamish groaned and shifted. His legs were getting a cramp. "Get off!" he demanded. Obediently, Jamese slid out of him and lay down beside him. Hamish stretched out in an attempt to fix the knot that had formed in his muscles. When the ball of tension persisted, he got up and stretched. A glance behind him told him that Jamese was not going anywhere. Six weeks of daily contact with him had given Hamish ample time to figure out most of his patterns. If the man didn't get up and shower after sex, he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. Seeing as he had to spend more time with the man, Hamish decided he'd shower and get it out of the way. Even if they ended up having sex again, he didn't like to lay around covered in stickiness.

The shower apparently was not the perverted invention of Jamese's mind. In the books in Hamish's library, many cultures beyond Earth's were discussed. The ones to which Jamese had admitted belonging, social bathing was the norm and undergarments had apparently never been invented and weren't used even after they had been introduced. Most spaces other than jailing cells were left open with only curtains covering doorways if some privacy was demanded. What Hamish had taken as the humiliating destruction of his privacy, was merely culture clash. He showered in the open space with ease after a few weeks.

Standing under the spray he relaxed and began to think. If his mind was no longer playing tricks on him, if he could trust that time was passing again, then over six weeks had passed at the absolute minimum. He had no way of knowing how long he'd spent on the metal table in the dream state and even less way of knowing how much time had passed when time stopped inside his apartment. But if it had taken the Horsemen less than four months to bring the human race its knees, to reduce proud and powerful nations to scrambling, terrified masses, then in over six weeks, he was sure the human race was all but extinct. Such was his dilemma.

He had wanted to save someone, anyone, from the wrath of the Horsemen, but due to the sexuaul-romantic fixation of the single man, he'd spent weeks or months of time just wriggling into something he could call freedom. Jamese, he was fairly sure, regarded him as lover not a prisoner. Hamish was sure he could manipulate him for his own use if he only knew what to do so for. The human race was most likely gone. He was probably the last one alive or he would be soon. And so that left the question: What now?

What should he do now that his mission had been stolen from him? He had promised to kill Jamese, but what would that do? The other three Horsemen under his command would kill Hamish even if he managed to kill the man. Besides, Horsemen Squad One Hundred and Forty Two was only one out of thousands or hundreds-of-thousand of Squads all across the universe. Killing their Captain in Command would do nothing but assure those in the universe who saw the Horsemen as a noble fighting force that Humans were brutal, stupid, monstrous beings worthy of destruction.

No. Hamish couldn't kill Jamese. So what could he do? As he continued to muse, the subject of his musing wandered drowsily into the bathroom. Hamish spared Jamese a glance before returning to washing his hair.

"Hamish," the man muttered.

The professor hummed in response, indicating that he was listening but made no other move to acknowledge the man. Since Hamish was in the first line of spray in the large shower area, James had to walk around him to the use the spray farther from the door. He tapped the control pad on the wall to turn on the water and stood under the spray for a moment before he continued to speak.

"Hamish, I was wondering something."

"And that would be?"

"Well I was wondering if ... how should I put this. I guess the issue I want to bring up is that you're so very ... submissive."

Hamish rinsed his hair and shook the water from it before turning his eyes to Jamese. "What do you mean? Isn't that what you want?"

"What I want?!" Jamese asked. He seemed genuinely surprised. His perfect eyebrows shot up in shocked arcs and lips parted into a silent "O". Then he furrowed his brows and frowned heavily, his full lips dropping into something of a pout. "Hamish. I wouldn't want that. I'd like to fight, if anything."

Gazing at the man coolly, Hamish tried to figure out the other's game. "If I fight," he said slowly, "I will lose."

"Losing can be an excitement. You'd see, if you'd try it."

The sentence sounded somewhat absurd. Losing being an excitement. It sounded like a logic of one who general wins. However Hamish didn't truly have a choice. Besides, even if was a game, it was better game than the one he was already playing. Getting up and out of the spray, Hamish began to dry himself and thought.

Jamese was an odd man. He truly seemed to believe that Hamish was here of his own free will. Despite having captured him as a means of seduction, the man acted like a hopeless romantic. He revelled in candle-lit dinners and cried like a baby all the way through Brokeback Mountain - much to Hamish's dismay. Worst of all, whether it was a ruse or a delusion on Jamese's part, Hamish found himself falling for it. He laughed, truly laughed, when the man did and kissed back when he was kissed. Perhaps that was the reason he hadn't simply outright asked of the fate of Earth. It would ruin the illusion.

With a sigh, Hamish dried his hair with a towel. He could have stood in the full body drier and let the warm, lightly scented air get rid of the water, but he liked toweling off. It seemed more normal to him. Jamese hardly touched a towel. He went straight from the shower to the drier and was done in half the time it took Hamish.

Even so, towel in hand, Hamish stepped out of the bathroom and turned towards the kitchen. Before he got more than a step away, his arm was grabbed.

"Let's have sex again," Jamese muttered as he went to close Hamish in his arms.

Normally Hamish would have allowed it. He would have melted into the man's arms and been putty in his hands until he was done. But not that time. He pulled firmly away and squared his shoulders. "No. I'm hungry. I'm getting a snack. Maybe after." In truth he wasn't hungry. He did eat normally, but little by little his need to eat diminished again. He did so out of habit and to pass the time. If he decided to go without food in favor of reading - for the books in his library were ever changing, never letting him get bored - than he could do so and not feel the effects. He didn't need water either. Besides all that, they had a romantic lunch just before falling into the bed the last time. However eating was a convenient excuse to refuse the man.

Jamese pouted and pulled on him. "Please. One more. Then I'll cook for you, if you'd like."

"No!" Hamish snapped. "Get off!"

He slapped the man's hand away and began to storm towards the kitchen, towel still in hand. Jamese grabbed him, yanking him back. Hamish wailed and dropped his towel as he spun around. As he came to face the man he hit him in the chest. Jamese, to Hamish's surprise, grunted as if he had hurt him and his grip went slack, allowing Hamish to snake out of it. But no sooner had he taken a step away did the man grab him again.

They wrestled, Hamish pulling them towards the kitchen, Jamese pulling them towards the bed. Jamese struggled and cursed as if he really had the strength to defy him, but slowly dragged him towards the bed, panting as if he really fought for every inch. Finally the bigger man tipped himself over, throwing himself on the bed and dragging Hamish with him. They rolled and twisted. Whether he tried to or not, Jamese ended up tickling Hamish which caused the man to shriek and wiggle in an attempt to get away from him. Laughing wildly the man leaned down and planted kisses on the smaller man's neck while still trying to tickle him.

When their mouths finally met Hamish had to ask himself what was going on. Maybe it was some terrible, highly advanced form of Stockholm Syndrome but he was happy. He was relaxed and happy, kissing his jailor like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. Jamese pressed them together, pushing between his legs. Hamish moaned, allowed it and moved to trial some kisses down the man's perfect jaw. As Jamese slid inside him, easily, swiftly, he sighed.

"Hamish," he muttered and pressed him down to bed, kissing his chest. The professor sighed and lay back. Jamese's kisses were light and numerous, besides being all-consuming. Under the onslaught of those affections pecks Hamish hummed in contentment. His breath hitched as Jamese drove into him. He shuddered and moaned under the pressure of the man's body. His body tensed, becoming more and more rigid as Jamese drove himself harder and harder into his body, slamming into his prostate, driving him wild. A cry caught in his throat. He wanted so badly to scream but he was stuck, not quite finished. A perfect arched form along the contour of his spine which only gave Jamese more room to move. The bigger man lifted him off the bed with the force of thrusts and the precarious title of his body. The small piece of Hamish's mind that could still work figured that Jamese would collapse on him as soon as he came.

Then without warning, Hamish's brain shut off. He screamed, suddenly falling headlong through a cloud of bliss. He heard in the far-off distance, Jamese calling out to him. Finally he slowed and stopped and was in bed again. Jamese collapsed on him - as he had calculated - and was muttering nearly incoherently. His body was shaking, adding to the slur of his words. Besides, he wasn't speaking English. Hamish had no idea what he was saying. Until he did.

It was just a few words, English with a heavy accent, mixed into some other language, but Hamish heard. Jamese pressed his face into the crook of Hamish's neck and said it.

"Hamish," he muttered. "I love you. I love you."


	12. Earth, China; 100 BCE

"Kang!"

The young man sat straight up with a start and shook his head to clear the sleep from it. He was laying on top of a stack of hay. Beside him a oxen stared at him with an irritated look. The grey-blue eyed young man stared at the animal and raised one of his black eyebrows.

"Ox? Did you call me?" He leaned forward, wondering if the oxen had actually called his name. It was the year of the Ox, after all. Maybe the spirits had a message for him.

"The oxen?" the same voice said. "No, you idiot. Over here?"

Kang looked beyond the oxen towards the door of the barn. He broke out into a smile when he saw the person standing there. He was a little older than the teen, dressed in fine clothes and armor. His horse stood behind him.

"Qing! Hello!"

"Hello Kang," the man said.

Kung climbed out of the hay and strode over to where the other man stood. Without warning or pause, he threw his arms around the other and kissed him. The soldier allowed the kiss for a moment before pulling away.

"You shouldn't do that. What if someone were to see us?"

Kang laughed, a full, happy laugh. "It is the middle of the night. The stars and the gods alone watch us! Besides, if I clean up, you could call me your concubine and bring me to the palaces."

The young soldier chuckled and shook his head. "And if someone were to discover that you are a man. What then, Kang?"

"A man would have to force himself on me to do that. I'd scream so loudly, the guards would have no trouble seeing what was to happen. They'd slay the brute and avert their eyes to preserve my modesty."

"Modesty" Qing laughed. "You have all the modesty of a common peasant." However as soon as he said it he frowned. "Kang. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine. A soldier trained under the watchful eye of the emperor can't help by speak in such a way to someone like me. But I do hope that you know I'm more than I seem."

"Of course you are!" The soldier dropped his helmet and kissed the smaller man, drawing him up against his armored body. For a moment they stayed like that, until Qing let the smaller man go. He released him from his kiss, but kept him in his arms. "Kang. My sources tell me that a revolt is to rise here, tomorrow, upon the first light."

"I've heard as much as well."

"Emperor Wu has issued ordered for captains to suppress all revolt under threat of death. If the people rise here, I will strike them down."

"Of course you will."

The soldier frowned. "Kang. Promise me, swear to me on your honor, I will not see you among the rebels."

"I swear."

"You do?"

"I do. I will hide in the mountains until you come for me. I have no interest in the power grabs and squabbles of men, anyway. Let them all burn for all I care." The younger man pushed away from his lover and looked up at the stars. "These revolts. They will fail. I know it."

"The gods speak to you again?" Qing focused on the other man's face, torn between his affection for him and his horror over the other's seeming hatred of all things having to do with mortal man.

"I know much more than I should. More than I even realize. I have forgotten many important things, Qing. I try to remember them, but like grains of sand they slip through my fingers."

The older man closed the distance between them and forced the man to look into his eyes. "You will remember. I don't know how, but I know you are full of greatness. You can soar with dragons, if you like, if you'd only remember how."

"If I'd only remember how," Kang repeated.

"Kang. When this business is done, I will come for you and then send you to live and learn with the monks in Chang'an."

"The capital?"

"Yes. I believe you can remember those things you know. The monks will help." The soldier held his lover and smiled. "You will be a great man, Chen Kang. Of that I am sure."

Kang returned his eyes to the stars and pursed his lips for a moment. Something occurred to him just then, but he couldn't remember just what. Frowning in frustration he lowered his gazed and pressed himself into his lover.

Why couldn't he remember?


	13. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

Hamish stared at the birds. They were cardinals. Or at least he thought that maybe they were cardinals. He wasn't much interested in birds. He supposed that sooner or later he would read up on them. There was only a limited amount of things for him to do in his apartment so filling his head with knowledge - which was one of his favorite pastimes anyway - would have to do to keep him occupied. Still at the moment, he knew next to nothing about birds and watched the tiny creatures with distance interest.

"I think I'm going to get you a dog."

Hamish turned to see Jamese coming out through the door of apartment. He had on a button down shirt and slacks but his shirt was open in the front and his sleeves were rolled up. The man rarely wore a tie anymore, even if they didn't have sex. Jamese sat down in the other chair at the patio tea table and looked at him.

"A dog?" Hamish muttered, meeting the other's gaze.

"You need some companionship when I'm not here."

The laugh that tore out of Hamish's mouth after hearing that was mean-spirited and bitter. However that wasn't what bothered him about it. What bothered him, was that he hadn't meant it to be and that he was truly sorry for the slip. He covered his mouth with his hand and looked at Jamese with apologies in mind before catching himself. However it still wasn't simple. Whether he wasn't apologizing because he still hated the man, or was simply angry over his isolation, he didn't know. He'd stopped knowing where the line was between real and not-real long ago. By his counting, he'd been here with Jamese for five months. He had come to terms with the fact that he knew nothing anymore. Not where he really was, not how he really felt. Frankly he didn't even know who he really was.

"You're angry," Jamese guessed with a frown as he gazed at him.

"I am," Hamish admitted. "You said my time here would depend on me. Well it's been a long time." He laughed. "Or maybe it hasn't been. When you can stop the passage of time for me, make me not need to sleep or eat, how can trust my senses? I can't!" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. None of that matters. What matters is, I'm bored here. I have noone to talk to when you're not here. I haven't been with another besides you in ... god I can't even say that. I don't even know how long I've been here."

The man frowned, furrowed his brows and shook his head. "Hamish," he whispered and he sounded so hurt. "Hamish I want to help you. But you're not ready. This is taking much longer than I expected. We can't move forward until you're ready."

"Until I'm ready?!" Hamish snapped. "Ready for what? What is taking so long. What is going on?"

Jamese didn't answer. He simply looked at him and shook his head.

"Stop! Stop that! Tell me. You've taken everything from me. Everything! I have let go. I have let you take whatever you want from me. I'm asking for one thing. Tell me!"

"I can't," the man said quietly and pushed himself out of his chair.

He closed the distance between them and kissed Hamish on the cheek before moving away from him. Before he could return inside Hamish spoke again.

"Stop giving me the dreams," he said.

He couldn't see it, because he staring at his hands, but he heard Jamese stop at the doorway. For a moment there was silence. Hamish wondered if the man would answer. When he didn't, he continued.

"I'm having these vivid dreams about being different people in different times and places. It was okay at first, I thought they were just dreams. But now I'm waking up and thinking like I'm that person. Yesterday, when I woke up, I spent an hour reading a manuscript. It was fascinating. I got up to close the door because the birds were chirping too loudly. When I returned to the manuscript, I could figure out why I couldn't read it. I realized after a while it was in ancient Greek."

He paused, shaking a little. For the first time, he was scared. Not angry, or resentful, or full of defiance. He was just scared.

"Jamese. I don't know what you're doing, but please, I'm asking you, begging you to stop. My mind is all I have left. It is the one thing you haven't taken from me. Can't you leave me anything of my own? You have my life, my body, hell even my affection. Please. Can't I have this one thing to myself. Even a slave has that."

Again, his pleas were met with silence. He listened, but heard nothing but the birds. Maybe, he thought, Jamese had left before after all and he had been begging to empty air. But then he heard something, a soft sound like a whine.

"I'm sorry," came Jamese's quiet reply. And then muffled footfalls retreated from the door. Far away, the door of the apartment opened and closed. Hamish sat at the table tensed, trying desperately not to cry. Maybe he could hold onto what was left of pride to preserve him. Anything would do at this point.


	14. Earth, Persia; 558 BCE

He gasped and fell, clutching his hand to his chest. He shook, the pain from the wound causing spots to appear in his vision. His body seized and revolted against the fate which had been thrust upon it, but to no avail. Blood poured readily from the slit in his chest. The knife had been wielded with too great a precision. It had slipped between the ribs and severed the bottom of the man's heart. All the blood now rushed freely through the opening and stained the front of the man's clothes as well as the ground. The man looked up, his grey-blue eyes searching for his murderer. He did not serch long. Above him stood his killer and his lover, both embodied in the same man; a beautiful dark eyed man, whom he had thought he could trust.

"Cy-cyrus ... I ... don't understand." The wounded man shook and even though his killer still held the knife with which he had slain him, he tried to inch forward towards him. The knife gleamed black, stained deep red where it had cut into his body.

The killer, dark skinned, dark eyed, fair of face, but cold as stone, stood above him and looked down with either contempt, or terrible, bitter guilt.

"I'm sorry, Kassandane," he muttered. "Truly I am sorry. I gave you a choice and you made it. You could have been a great man, the personal god of a king, but you and your stubborn pride didn't allow it. You and your high and mighty aways, a man from stars here to watch humanity but unwilling to rule over it properly. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it was your will, not mine."

"You ... you fool," the man, Kassandane, bowed his head and balled his head into a fist. "You will regret this. If not you, your children, or their children. Ungrateful, unworthy - ugh!"

His words were cut off by the other man kicking him under his chin and sending him rolling onto his back. That same foot came down on his throat - over the black band of markings that stood there - silencing him farther.

"You may be one of the gods, Kassandane, but I will rule mortal men. You could have joined me, but now you will die. I am a slayer of even lesser gods. And lesser is what you are. You have been corrupted my your human flesh and now, you pass into the void."

The man struggled to breath under the weight of his killer's foot. He turned his head a little, in an attempt to regain his voice.

"You have ... ruined this ... for all. I ... I will ... never ... never again ... assist ... humans. Burn. All of you ... Burn!"

The man gasped but the weight of Cyrus's body was too much for him. His throat collapsed, cutting of his air supply for good. For a moment he lay there, seething with rage, staring up at his killer. Then, blackness crawled into from the edges of his vision, and he faded.


	15. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

Hamish shook. He was laying in bed. The doors to the little forest were shut. Rain pattered against the glass. Somewhere in his mind, he found the capacity to be amused. It had never rained before. The bed was cold. Jamese had been there previously but he was gone now. Hamish was simply laying there, waiting for his return. Time was once again an independent entity. He couldn't trust his judgement of it. It moved as it pleased and left him guessing at how it past.

Finally, a weight added itself to the bed. A warmth filled the space and Hamish grasped it greedily. Jamese petted one of his shoulders, rubbing the skin under his fingers in a tender way. Hamish shook as if wracked with sobs, though he wasn't crying anymore.

"Please," he whispered. "Please. No more. I can't take anymore. Hundreds of thousand of thoughts and feelings and lives are swarming inside my head. Whatever you're doing, whatever you want, you can have it. Please, I give up. Just no more. I can't ... I don't even know who I am anymore. Please. No more."

Jamese continued to rub his back again before pulling him up to his level. He pressed their foreheads together for a moment before kissing the man. He pulled Hamish close and kissed him deeply. The feel of the bigger man's hand roaming down Hamish body drowned out almost everything else. Hamish knew what it meant. It meant Jamese would not stop. The ex-professor might have sobbed, but the Horseman had his mouth captured in a kiss, so he couldn't.

The man pressed him, forcing them together with a firmness that bordered on brutal. But Hamish didn't really mind. Anything was better than sleep. Anything was better than dreaming. The only downside to sex, was that often, Jamese went on until he was exhausted and then Hamish fell into dreams without wanting to and without a choice in the matter. He moaned briefly as he felt Jamese enter him. His body was so used to it, it didn't hurt. Instead it filled him with a sense of being complete when he was otherwise partial. Hamish gasped and tightened his grip on the man's shoulders. It felt good. So good. How Jamese could put such power behind the movement when he was under him and thrusting up, Hamish couldn't tell. He didn't care either. It was lovely.

He moaned, outwardly and loudly, wishing at once that he would come and that he could stay in this moment. Jamese was muttering into his skin. Probably telling him he loved him.

Hamish smiled wryly. The man loved him. He was afraid to know what'd he do it him if he didn't.


	16. Earth, Persia; 564 BCE

"Don't be afraid!" The man called to child who was hiding behind some rock, peeking out.

He hadn't expected anyone to be here and so had descended to the surface at the spot. This was his third trip down to see the progress of the experiment. It wasn't often that Horseman were allowed to come into contact with bioengineering experiments that were still in progress, especially a newbie as he was. Normally they were only called in when the experiment was deemed a failure and was to be destroyed.

But Horseman, in addition to being warriors, were also researchers. They knew how to handle themselves in a laboratory setting and so every once in awhile they were given an entire procedure to watch over and left to deem for themselves if the project was worth continuing or shutting down.

He had been down to the surface the experimental world twice before, but this was the first specimen of bioengineered-sentient-life that he had interacted with. He was thrilled. He spoke the language this particular specimen had learned to use. He knew nearly every language spoke inside the world of Project M2U-Oa-DP3. Speaking to this frightened, immature specimen was nothing to him.

"Don't be afraid," he repeated the creature's tongue. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You ... you came out of the sky!"

Slowly the Horseman looked up. Through his helmet's display his grey-blue eyes could see his Squad's ship hovering silently beyond the moon of the planet. He smiled and returned his gaze to the child.

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Are you a god?"

"A god?!" He laughed. He couldn't help it. He knew the poor creature was one of the early crops. This project wouldn't be yielding sophisticated beings for several thousand years yet. But still, the innocent nativity was hard to dismiss. "No child, I'm not a god."

"You have no face," the child whispered if fear.

Suddenly he understood. His helmet was scaring the poor thing. With smiled, he released the bonds holding the material around his face in a dense metal-like state. It was was simple metal process to order the substance to lose density after which it just fell apart under its own weight due to its fragile nature. He pushed back his hood and pulled down his collar, revealing his curly black hair and the thick band band permanently inked around his neck.

"There," he said with a smile. "Is that better?" The child didn't approach him, but he did seem calmer. "Now then child, what's your name?"

"I ... I'm Cyrus."

"Cyrus huh." He smiled. The man meant sun. It was cute little name. "And where are you from, Cyrus?"

"The palace. I'm the prince. I will be king and build a great empire on day."

"I see." So this child was to be the ruler of this section of the planet. Well, it would be if it lived that long. These early crops were almost invariably brutal, given to slaughtering one another needlessly over the smallest provocation. However this creature was still immature and its innocence made it look more regal than the adults of his kind. The Horseman couldn't help but like it. Cuteness: evolution's greatest survival tool.

"And what do I call you? Gods have names too, don't they?"

The grey-blue eyed Horseman sighed and shook his head. The poor child had no idea what it was talking about. But still, there was no harm in giving it a name to refer to him by. His name would only confuse the child, for it was in a language spoken naturally on the other side of this planet. But he could chose a new one. "You may call me ... Kassandane."

"Kassandane, Great God." The child bowed at the waist in a calm reserved manner.

The man laughed. The boy - for he believed the child would grow into a siring being, rather than on who bore children - was a beautiful child. His hair was well managed, his skin smooth, his muscles already firm under his skin. The child stared with open wonder at him, but it only made him more beautiful.

"What is that around your throat?" the child asked. "Is it a scar?"

The Horseman touched his throat and shook his head. "No. It's a badge of honor. Proof of my commitment. Perhaps I will explain it to you one day."

"And that?" he asked, pointing to his belt. "That's a weapon. A knife."

Tugging on the knife with his left hand, the Horseman brought it up out of his bet. The sleek black substance was the same as his armor but unable to be made less dense and crumble. That would defeat its purpose as a knife. "Oh yes. This is a special knife, made go with my armor."

"May I wield it?" Cyrus asked.

Kassandane laughed. "Not until you're older, I think." He smiled and began to approach the child. Perhaps this some of this early crop would yield glorious fruit after all. He would see. He would stay with this specimen until his maturity and see what he could accomplish. Maybe he could earn some recognition for himself as a researcher at the same time. "Cyrus, would like me to teach you?"

"Teach me what?"

Smiling, the Horseman reached out for the boy and took his hand. "Oh so much. So very much. You have no idea what I could teach you." The Horseman thought of the praise he might garner for himself and for little Cyrus if he could present him to his Captain-in-Command as a worthy and successful subject. He was pleased when his proposal to the child was met with a grin.

"Yes, then. I would like that very much."

"Good. I'm glad."


	17. Horsemen Capital Ship; Present Day

Jamese looked out at the blue mass in front of him. Project M2U-Oa-DP3 was finally shut down, all personale had been retrieved, all specimens had been either destroyed or collected for further researched and Horseman Squad One Hundred and Forty Two was set to leave. The last loose end had been tied up just hours before. With a sigh, the man allowed himself to smiled at last. It had been long mission, and he was ready to go home.

Behind him the doors swished open. He hardly moved. He fully expected it to be one of his officers, updating him to the status of their rapidly approaching departure. Instead whoever it was, walked up to him briskly and hit him across the back of the head.

He yelped and turned around, hand on his belt ready to pull a weapon from it. But when he returned he locked onto a pair of angry grey-blue eyes, behind half moon glasses. The man's lips were twisted into a disapproving frown. His hands - covering in black gloves - were balled into fisted and perched on the hips of his uniform clad body.

"Hamish!" Jamese said. "What are you doing here? You should be resting. You're not fully recuperated yet."

"You!" the man shouted. "You had sex with me while I didn't remember who you were! You lecherous scum! I ought to file a complaint against you with Headquarters! I ought to have you arrested for sexual misconduct! You pervert!"

"Hamish!" The man put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Now there's no need for that! I was happy to see you. I couldn't contain myself!"

"You couldn't have waited for me to regain my mind? We'd been apart ... what over several thousand years. You couldn't wait six months for my treatment to be over? As it is, it took eight months because of your lecherous meddling!"

"No! I missed you too badly. Hamish, please understand. Though I went through many bodies all this time, I've been celibate. It was hard for me."

"Hard for you!? Trying being stuck, without memories, dying and being reborn, flitting from body to body every five decades, on that terrible little mudball those brains at Headquarters have the nerve to call a scientific experi ... .You were celibate in every body?" Hamish leaned back and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Really? Every single one?"

"Yes," Jamese muttered. "Ten of them mind you, though dying every fifty to eighty years on that "mudball" makes a few several-thousand-year lifetimes hardly seem worth mentioning. But you were reset every time you died. Yes, yes, you had no idea who you were, being born to the flesh of artificially created beings and all. But you were lucky to have been reborn intact at all, having been killed down there. And anyways I remembered! I never stopped looking for you when you went missing. Which by the way was your own fault! Having sex with the specimens, what a rookie mistake!":

"I was a rookie!" Hamish huffed. "Well it's over now. I'll have hell to pay for this. I'll be lucky if the reinstate my job." The man raised his hand and rubbed it anxiously over his naked, uninked neck.

Jamese only laughed at the man's distress. "Oh, they will. You're not the first rookie to get close to the specimens and you won't be the last. Some of them are downright pretty. Like these."

The man turned and touched the control dock on the counter. A wall to the side of the screen slid open reveal five pods, each containing a specimen, dressed in black lab clothes with their number and code names written on the glass. Hamish stared at the tubes for a moment before shaking his head. "My students."

"Yep. Anna, Nicole, Jacob, Santo and Kathryn. We found them while looking for you."

"And you took them?"

"M-hm. They just past the standard. The little brown haired one, Nicole, she's got a developmental disorder."

"I know. High-functioning Autism, is was called down there." Hamish put his hand on the pod containing the Sherlock obsessed young woman.

"Yes. But I made the case that a greater variety of samples will be better for research.

"What will happen to them?"

"They'll live with you, here with Squad One Hundred and Forty Two. We'll see if they can adjust, knowing fully well what they are and how their species was created."

"I think they'll be able to do it. Especially Anna. She'll get a kick out of the whole thing, if anything. She was strangely uninterested in her own kind."

"Well," Jamese went on with a shrug, "if they can manage, it'll prove well-adjust artificial life is possible and hopefully shut this whole thing down. Making fake people creeps me out."

Hamish laughed as he looked at the five young adults. "Some of the best people I've ever met have been fake. Qing, Elizabeth, Cathrine, these five."

"I know." Suddenly the larger man pulled the smaller away from the pods and held him. "Welcome home Hamish."

"Thank you Jam ... wait." The smaller man pulled away and gave his boss and lover and wry smile. "Why Jamese? How the hell did you come up with that name anyway?"

With a nervous laugh the bigger man pulled away. "Your name is Hamish. As in Hamish Watson Holmes."

"You read Johnlock? Okay that's weird."

Jamese sucked his teeth and shook his head. "Shut up! Anyway, you're named after the son of Sherlock Holmes."

"Hamish was John Watson's middle name. Hamish Watson Holmes is not canon."

"I know that!" Jamese snapped defensive. "But viewing it as such gave me the opportunity to name myself after Sherlock's rival, Jim - or James - Moriarty." He grinned. "See? It made sense for how we met again. Rivals, enemies, the witty banter. Get it?"

Hamish stared blankly for a moment before snorting in an attempt to hold back a laugh. "You're an idiot," he concluded.

"I love you too," Jamese responded sweetly.


	18. Horsemen Capital Ship; Distant Past

"Be careful down there."

The man that in several hundred thousand years would return to the ship under the name Hamish Jones, looked up from adjusting his armor into the face of his Captain-in-Command, a man who he could eventually come to call, Jamese.

"I'll be careful, boss," the rookie said flirtatiously.

"No, I mean it," his boss snapped. "Going to the surface of the experiment zone seems like fun, especially compared to sitting up here in orbit, but it can been really dangerous. You're fresh out of the Academy. The ink on your badge is hardly dry yet. You're bound to get in over your head if you're not careful."

The rookie laughed at his Captain and shook his head. "I've been training for four lifetimes for this. I'm good."

"I've been doing this job for twenty-six life times. Don't tell me your ready, after four lives of training.

"So what what does that prove?" the rookie asked. "That you're an old-timer on this job. So what? In the age of linked-reincarnate-lifetimes, age really is nothing but a number."

The older man huffed and shook his head. "You said that, but you are so very young. I can see it in those eyes of yours."

The younger Horseman waltzed over the the older and smiled. "You like my eyes, don't you?"

For a moment both men just stared at one another. Then the older sighed and relented.

"You know I do. I like all of you. I think I remember you, from many lifetimes ago. I think we were lovers at least once before. That's why I worry so much about you. I love you."

"I know Cap," the younger man assured the older gently. "I love you too. I promise. I won't screw this up. I won't get hurt. I'll go down, poke around a few times and that's it. I promise you."

"Really?"

"Really." The younger man placed kiss on the cheek of the older and moved away. "Besides, this is one of the first crops. They're still burning trees to keep warm and hunting with metal and stone tied onto sticks. What's the worst that could happen to me?"


End file.
